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Everything he did revealed an honorable heart. Those around him wondered how such a decent man had ended up being such a loner. It wasn’t because he had no family. Although his mother’s death had ripped away a portion of his heart, he talked affectionately of playing with an older brother, and pride filled his deep voice when he told how his father had taught him about breaking horses.
“You’re doing just fine,” he said to Buster, and the boy lifted his head and smiled.
“Good evening, ma’am.” Buster led his horse away, swinging the rope to keep the animal behind him. Proud and sure of himself now, thanks to Brand’s kindness.
Again the question raced through Sybil’s mind. Who was this man?
“Did you have supper yet?” Seems he might have eaten with the others at the cookhouse.
“No, ma’am,” he said, imitating Buster’s formal politeness. “Me and Dawg were about to go to camp and make our supper.”
“Why don’t I bring you a plate of food instead? Unless you prefer your own cooking.”
His laugh sent ripples of joy through her veins.
“About all I got in my pantry is beans.”
“Fine. I’ll be along shortly with a plate of food.” She paused. Maybe she’d misunderstood. “Unless you plan to ask Cookie for a late meal.”
“No, ma’am. No such plans.” He watched her from under the brim of his cowboy hat.
She tried to read his expression. He revealed nothing. “You could come with me and eat in the kitchen.”
He lifted his head. His face remained expressionless. His eyes darted past her to the big house, then to the woods, and finally to her. She saw a world of sorrow and regret that jarred her. Was this the look of a man who had committed a dreadful crime?
No, she couldn’t believe it. Any more than she could explain the ache clenching her heart, squeezing out sorrowful tears. She gave herself a mental shake. All this talk about parents had simply reminded her of her loss.
And loneliness.
You have no reason to make so many assumptions. Sorrow, guilt or innocence all based on the way his eyes darted about and grew dark. The way he and Buster make you think of your parents.
No reason, she argued, but the witness of my heart to his. I know sorrow when I see it. I recognize it as different than guilt.
Then he blinked. “Me and Dawg will go to our camp, if it’s all the same to you.” He whistled for the dog, which rose from the shadows of the barn and trotted after his owner.
“I’ll bring you a meal,” she called.
He didn’t turn, but it sounded as if he said, “Suit yourself.”
God had given her a second chance with Brand and she didn’t intend to waste it.
She dashed up the hill, her feet light. Just before the door, she drew to a halt. What chance did she mean—to learn more about Brand for her story or for her own sake?
Her story, she silently insisted. That’s all that mattered.
That and keeping her heart safe. She knew all too well the sorrow of a leaving kind of man.
* * *
He should have told her he didn’t want a meal brought to him, but he couldn’t deny himself a visit from Sybil. He lifted his head as she stepped from the trees, bearing a covered plate, and thankfully saving him from having to analyze why he allowed himself to enjoy her company and ignore the warning of his gut.
Dawg bent his tail to one side—the closest thing to a wag Dawg ever managed.
“I hope there’s enough food for you.” She handed Brand the plate and removed the cloth.
He bent over and filled his nose with the aroma of hot beef and rich gravy. The mashed potatoes were a small mountain. “Reminds me of the meals my ma used to make.” Now where had that come from? Except something more than the food reminded him of Ma. Sharing mealtime with a woman, listening to her talk, were sweet moments he’d tuck next to his heart to warm him throughout the long winter months.
“She sounds like a good woman.”
“She was.”
“Do you mean because she made good meals?”
He sensed Sybil’s probing. It surprised him some to realize he didn’t mind. It would be good to talk to someone besides Dawg for a change. Dawg might be a good enough friend but he wasn’t much for carrying on a conversation. Brand would simply have to choose his words carefully and not reveal anything that would identify him as a Duggan.
